


Easy Like Saturday Morning

by smartalli



Category: Suits (TV)
Genre: Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-15
Updated: 2011-11-15
Packaged: 2017-10-26 03:13:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,051
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/278029
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smartalli/pseuds/smartalli
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You’re giving me a reward for finding the loophole last night.”</p>
<p>“I would have given you sex, but you couldn’t even remember your own name by the time we got in the door.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Easy Like Saturday Morning

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

It’s still fairly early when Harvey wakes up, the soft Saturday morning sunshine just beginning to reach over the tops of the buildings of Manhattan and through his bedroom windows. Harvey stretches lightly and reaches over toward the other side of the bed, but it’s empty. It’s still warm, though. Which means Mike hasn’t been up long.

 

They’d tumbled into the condo last night just past midnight, eyes bleary and brains overtaxed from late night after late night after late night the last couple of weeks, trying to find the tiniest loophole in an otherwise ironclad contract. When Mike finally found it, hours after everyone else had gone home for the night, hours after they’d finished the pizza – _yes, Mike, fine...you can get cheese in the crust this time_ – Mike had let out a triumphant sound from his position on his back in the middle of Harvey’s office floor and then proceeded to start singing the Rocky theme, punching his fists in the air in some ridiculous imitation of what Harvey presumed was supposed to be a champion boxer.

 

Which was clearly the signal for Harvey to take him home.

 

As soon as they got in the door, Mike dropped his bag and began shedding clothes, disposing of them in a haphazard line to their bedroom, smiling at Harvey sleepily as each piece hit the floor. Harvey shook his head in fond exasperation and picked up after Mike, throwing the clothes into a hamper inside the bedroom closet as Mike fell back onto their bed (naked except for, curiously, just one sock), and let out strings of words that sounded like _ohgodlovesleeploveeverythingthisbedisamazing_ and _bestboyfriendever_ and _loveyousomuch_.

 

Harvey walked over to the bed and when Mike reached for him, bent down and kissed the other man. Harvey set Mike’s sleep clothes on the bed next to him and went in search of his own, and when he walked back over to the bed, Mike had managed to get his clothes on and himself under the covers, his body stretched diagonally across the bed, his head resting on Harvey’s pillow. Harvey shoved Mike over gently and slipped under the covers, and Mike gave a muffled whine of protest and snuggled up to Harvey, slinging a leg over his hips and nuzzling his face into his neck.

 

Harvey turned off the light and ran his fingers through Mike’s hair and smiled as Mike let out a contented sigh and became boneless in Harvey’s arms. Mike is the first person Harvey’s ever met that can go from 0 to 60 in two seconds and 60 to 0 just as fast, like a little kid crashing after a Halloween candy sugar high.

Harvey hears a cabinet door closing in the kitchen a little too loudly and some words he can’t make out from this far away, and gets out of bed. When Harvey enters the living area, he sees Mike sitting on the kitchen counter, his back to Harvey. His left leg is pulled up onto the counter and his head is tilted, cheek resting on his knee as he talks into the cell phone held in place by his right hand. His left arm is wrapped around his left leg and his back is hunched so that his t-shirt – Harvey’s old Harvard t-shirt that Mike insists on wearing to bed – is riding up, exposing a few precious inches of skin above the waistband of Mike’s blue sleep pants.

 

Harvey steps up behind Mike quietly and runs an appreciative hand over that stretch of skin, soft and sleep-warm, and feels Mike jump slightly under his fingers. Mike lifts his head and smiles and Harvey presses a kiss into his neck before he heads across the kitchen toward the coffee maker.

 

“I know, Grammy. Yeah...yeah...mmhmm...”

 

Harvey smiles to himself and reaches for the beans in the cabinet above the coffee maker when he notices the steady flow of coffee into a carafe that is already an inch or so full.

 

He turns and looks at Mike and raises an eyebrow. Mike smiles back at him wide and sweet and proud, and Harvey doesn’t hesitate in walking across the kitchen and giving the puppy his reward for a job well done, planting a firm kiss on his smiling mouth. Mike tilts the phone away from his ear briefly and whispers, “I told you I’d figure it out.”

 

Harvey snorts and rolls his eyes. “Yeah...it only took you three months. Aren’t you supposed to be a genius?”

 

Mike rolls his eyes and turns his attention back to his grandmother and Harvey steps away to see if Mike’s coffee is actually any good, pouring himself a cup and leaning against the counter to take a sip. Mike’s watching him intently, playing with the hem of his pants, waiting for Harvey’s reaction – because it’s all fine and good to know how to turn on a coffee maker, but if your coffee is actually shit, then what’s the point? – and Harvey milks it for all it’s worth, sipping his coffee achingly slow, forcing his face to stay blank. Finally he allows the corner of his mouth to tilt up and Mike looks away from him and smiles again, answering his grandmother in the affirmative when she asks another question Harvey can’t hear.

 

Harvey pulls flour and baking powder and sugar out of the cabinet to his left and mixing bowl out of the cabinet below him, and turns to pull milk and blueberries and eggs and bacon out of the fridge when he hears Mike sigh.

 “I know, Grammy. I’m sorry. The case just ate up all my time these last couple of weeks. I couldn’t get away. But I promise I’ll come-” Harvey smiles as Mike rolls his eyes and corrects himself. “Sorry. _We’ll_ come and see you this week. I promise.” Harvey doesn’t bother to hide his laugh as he shuts the fridge door, and Mike says exasperatedly, “Yes, Grammy, I’ll make sure he comes.” There is a pause and Mike says, “No ma’am. I’m not sassing you.”

 

Harvey pours a cup of coffee for Mike and smiles fondly as Mike tries to flounder his way back to solid ground with his grandmother. She doesn’t give an inch, Harvey will give her that. She probably would have made a good closer in her time.

 

He walks across the kitchen and sets the cup of coffee on the counter next to Mike, kissing the younger man on the mouth softly when Mike gives him a pitiful, pleading look. “Today. We’ll go see her today.” Mike looks at him with wide, hopeful eyes and Harvey kisses him one more time on the mouth and nuzzles behind his ear before he says, “Really. Go on...tell her we’ll bring her lunch and she can beat us at cards again.” When he pulls back, the look on Mike’s face is so relieved and so very grateful, and Harvey feels something warm and undeniably fond uncurl in his chest.

 

Mike talks a little longer with his grandmother, waving his right leg back and forth and playing with the toes of his left foot like the little boy he sometimes pretends he isn’t, and Harvey adds blueberries into his pancake batter and flips the bacon.

 

When Mike hangs up, he sets his cell phone off to the side and picks up his coffee, taking a sip.

 

Harvey shoots him a brief look. “Still hot?”

 

“Enough.” Mike takes another sip. “You’re making pancakes.”

 

“Mmhmm.”

 

“ _Blueberry_ pancakes.”

 

“Yep.”

 

“Those are my favorite.”

 

Harvey lifts an eyebrow and looks over at him. “You don’t say.”

 

Mike grins at him. “You’re giving me a reward for finding the loophole last night.”

 

“I would have given you sex, but you couldn’t even remember your own name by the time we got in the door.”

 

Mike shrugs and reaches for a piece of bacon cooling off to the side of the stove in a nest of paper towels. “Pancakes are better.” Harvey gives him a look and Mike amends that with, “Okay...pancakes are better than sex with Sheila Tourney and Heather Martin and Elizabeth Brower and Danny Kovalev, the One Minute Wonder, but they don’t even come close to sex with you. Better?”

 

“Anyone ever tell you that bringing up the names of your exes while your boyfriend is making you breakfast is bad form?”

 

“Nope. I was raised by wolves.”

 

“I’m telling Grammy you called her that.”

Mike finishes his piece of bacon and then rests his chin on his knee, watching Harvey as he flips blueberry pancakes one after the other that are a perfect – _of course_ – golden brown. When he’s flipped the last pancake onto a plate off to the side and poured fresh batter onto the pan, Harvey reaches his hand out and wraps it around the calf of Mike’s leg and starts to rub it in small, slow circles. Mike smiles and Harvey says, “It was a good catch.”

 

He shrugs. “You would have found it.”

 

“Of course I would have. But you found it first.”

 

The microwave beeps and Harvey pulls the syrup out and makes Mike a plate, sliding a couple of scrambled eggs on the side. Mike slaps way too much butter on top of his pancakes and practically drowns everything in maple syrup, and Harvey sighs as the kid digs in with his fork with a wide smile on his face. The moan he lets out after his first bite is practically filthy, and Harvey gives in to his urge to kiss Mike, slotting his mouth over his and holding the younger man’s chin in his hand. He pulls back and then gives him another little kiss and drags his thumb over Mike’s mouth. Mike gives his thumb a little kiss before he spears another wedge of pancake and puts it in his mouth, dropping his left leg off the counter.

 

“Do we have any juice?”

 

“Yes, princess. We have juice.”

 

Harvey sets the spatula down and pulls the orange juice out of the fridge, pouring two glasses. He holds one out for Mike and Mike sets his plate off to the side and takes the glass, his feet reaching out and wrapping around the backs of Harvey’s thighs, pulling him closer and closer until Harvey’s hips hit the edge of the counter. Mike takes a sip of the juice then sets the glass down and reaches forward and slides his hands under the back of Harvey’s t-shirt, spreading his fingers as he tries to touch as much of Harvey’s skin as he can.

 

Mike nuzzles under Harvey’s chin and down his neck to behind his ear, dropping a line of soft kisses all along Harvey’s jaw line before his lips meet Harvey’s. They kiss for a few seconds, gentle little things that stay shallow and slow, and when Mike pulls back he says, with a little grin on his face, “Morning.”

 

Harvey snorts and pulls away to flip the last batch of pancakes. He turns the stove off and fixes a plate for himself, sliding two over easy eggs onto his plate and covering his pancakes with a non-diabetes inducing serving of syrup. He sets his plate on the counter next to Mike and stands in between his legs, and they immediately move to wrap around the backs of his thighs. Mike brings up a hand to rest on Harvey’s hip as he sips from his glass of juice and Harvey cuts into his breakfast.

It was painfully obvious to Harvey from the beginning that the way Mike hung around him, so eager for praise and attention, that he was starved for affection. Someone clearly hadn’t been paying attention the day that job was handed out. But what Harvey _hadn’t_ caught on to right away was the more physical aspect of Mike’s problem. It took him a few weeks to realize that Mike didn’t just crave _attaboys_ and _way to gos_ , he also craved human contact. He was touch starved, and desperately searching for someone to change that. And it became even more clear that one of two things could happen: either Harvey could take it on himself to take care of Mike, to give him what he craved, or he could wait for someone else to come along and screw the kid up even worse than he was already.

 

( _Fucking Trevor_.)

 

So Harvey started out small. He sat next to Mike on the couch in his office, instead of sitting in his chair, and didn’t move when Mike shifted into him. He directed Mike down the hallway with a touch to the elbow or a quick hand on the lower back. He slapped him on the back when he did something good. He put his hand on Mike’s shoulder and looked him directly in the eye when he wanted to make a point.

 

And when they weren’t in the office, Harvey let Mike touch as much as he wanted. He didn’t say anything when Mike stopped him once with a hand on his arm, and he didn’t comment when Mike fell asleep with his head on Harvey’s shoulder halfway through The Godfather. And eventually, Mike started to catch on that no matter what he did, no matter how he touched Harvey, Harvey wouldn’t pull away. He didn’t pull away when Mike leaned into his back on the pretense of getting a glass from one of Harvey’s kitchen cabinets, and he didn’t pull away when Mike stretched out on the couch and put his head on Harvey’s lap in the bottom of the sixth inning during the Yankees game. Harvey simply settled a little further into the couch and started running his fingers through Mike’s hair. And Mike let out this long, deep sigh, like he was finally coming up for air, and burrowed deeper into Harvey’s lap, and Harvey leaned down and pressed a kiss to his temple.

 

And when they finally kissed for the first time, it was Mike who made the first move, leaning forward and holding Harvey’s face in his hands as he tried, desperately, to get closer to Harvey than he’d ever been before.  And Harvey put his arms around Mike’s back and pulled him as close as he could, and felt the smile against his mouth.

Mike doesn’t need it now as intently, as _viscerally_ , as he did before, but Harvey can still see the need simmering under the surface of Mike’s skin sometimes, usually at work.  That’s when Harvey makes his excuses to Jessica and Donna about lunch meetings or meeting the client’s needs, and needing to show Mike how it’s done. And that’s when Harvey takes Mike out for fresh air and a hot dog and a little goofing off mixed with “accidental” nudges. Or, on the days when Mike needs more, Ray takes them back to the condo and Mike pulls and nudges and kisses Harvey until he is as relaxed during the middle of the week as he is at home on the weekends, when he is calm and open and easy, free to touch Harvey whenever the need arises.

 

Mike finishes chewing his last piece of bacon, dipping it in the river of syrup that is still on his plate and Harvey cuts through an egg with his fork, watching as the yolk runs out and blends with syrup, soaking into one side of his pancake.

 

Mike wrinkles his nose and says, “I don’t know how you eat runny yolks.”

 

“That’s why I make yours scrambled, Junior.”

 

Mike rolls his eyes and offers up the last section of his bacon to Harvey, who eats the bacon out of Mike’s hand, nipping at his fingers. Mike opens his legs a little wider and leans back against the counter, and watches as Harvey finishes his breakfast, spearing the last piece of egg and the last section of pancake onto his fork and sliding it into his mouth.

 

Harvey sets his fork down on his plate with a clatter and Mike says, “You done?”

 

Harvey takes a sip of his juice and sets his glass back down on the counter. “I don’t know, am I?”

 

Mike lets out a little frustrated sound and Harvey grins as Mike leans forward with his hands on Harvey’s hips and kisses him soundly. His hips cant forward and he starts to force the kiss with hard, bruising pulls on Harvey’s lips and Harvey pulls his head away and backs off the kiss, waits until Mike has calmed and his hands have loosened a little before he meets Mike’s lips again, slowly. He leaves gentle, leisurely pecks on Mike’s lips and Mike sighs into him as his hands start a slow climb under Harvey’s t-shirt and up along his ribs. Mike’s fingers gently run over each rib, probably running through the numbers of each in his head as his fingers climb. _Twelve...eleven...ten..._

Harvey’s mouth leaves Mike’s and begins a slow travel across Mike’s face, from his forehead to his temple to his nose to his cheek to his chin. He kisses under Mike’s jaw and down his neck, nuzzling under the neckline of the shirt at the graceful slope where Mike’s neck meets his shoulder, and leaves a little group of kisses there.  He kisses another line up Mike’s neck, toward his ear then wraps his arms around Mike completely and pulls the younger man to him, nosing through Mike’s short, soft hair. Mike hums in appreciation and his hands move up so that they’re resting on Harvey’s shoulder blades, his fingers making soft circles on Harvey’s warm skin.

 

Mike leans back and kisses Harvey once, twice, three times on the jaw before he meets his mouth and begins to kiss him deep and languid and sure, like he knows it’s never going to end. There will always be more kisses after this one, just as there will be more after the next kiss, and the next after that.

 

Mike kisses a small spot of syrup on the side of Harvey’s mouth that he missed and then sighs as Harvey’s mouth meets his again.  Harvey holds him tight and secure, and Mike sinks into Harvey’s soft lips and warm arms and the delicious feel of him on an early Saturday morning.

 

{finis}


End file.
